No fishing at Camanche? You're all wet

Wednesday

Feb 25, 2009 at 12:01 AM

CAMANCHE LAKE - For a sprawling, seven-mile-long lake that folks these days call "Camanche Island," one might be surprised to learn there is plenty of water at this foothill impoundment. There are fish to catch, too.

Peter Ottesen

CAMANCHE LAKE - For a sprawling, seven-mile-long lake that folks these days call "Camanche Island," one might be surprised to learn there is plenty of water at this foothill impoundment. There are fish to catch, too.

Set in the Mother Lode between the communities of Wallace and Buena Vista, 40 miles from Stockton, Camanche currently boasts 152,233 acre-feet of water, about 36 percent of capacity. There is a pronounced "bath tub ring," and the impoundment is dotted with islands and mine tailings - piles of rocks left from the Gold Rush era - signs of the prolonged drought.

There is, however, plenty of water to fish and more than 40 miles of shoreline to explore, and concessionaires are trying their best to lure anglers and nature lovers by reducing rates and stocking loads of rainbow trout.

"We've dropped the one-day car-boat fee to $13 and camp-sites to $16 a night," said Chris Cantwell, general manager of Camanche Recreation Company. "We know the economy is tough and want recreational users to get outdoors. We've also discounted our rental boat fleet by 40 percent."

Cantwell, who is celebrating his 30th year at Camanche, said only visitation at the RV park next to the South Shore Pond is doing well, thanks in part to a 50 percent increase in trout plants this year.

"The pond is full, and people can walk outside their RV, cast and catch trout," Cantwell said.

To attract anglers, more than 1,800 pounds of trout will be stocked each week through May, all paid for by a $4 fishing access permit. Ninety percent of the trout weigh 1-pound, and 10 percent are trophies, 5 pounds and up. Occasionally, rainbows as large as 12 pounds are released.

"We'll continue trout planting as long as the angler funding keeps pace," Cantwell said. "We release fish in three locations - at the North and South Shore boat ramps and the South Shore Pond, adjacent to the main lake."

Paul Perkins and I decided to troll the lake on Friday, overlooking a south wind and an overcast sky, in search of trout. We launched from a low-water ramp at North Shore and immediately boated a 13-inch rainbow.

"This might be a good omen," said Perkins, a master troller who has a penchant for patience and persistence, and not quitting until the sun sets.

The outing turned into a two-part story, a fishless endeavor in the upper part of the lake where the water temperature was a chilly 49 degrees, and a decent bite in the lower reaches, where the water warmed by mid-afternoon to 52 degrees.

We graphed trout at 10 to 40 feet but found that only fish in the upper layers of the water column were willing to bite a variety of Rapala lures. The color didn't matter. We used the fire-tiger, black-gold, blue-silver and black-silver combinations and each caught fish. Wobbling lures, even those outfitted with a piece of nightcrawler, didn't garner a strike.

"The rainbows are good quality, with no parasites and full fins and tails," said Perkins, measuring the largest of our limit catch, a 17-incher.

When the bite was slow, the bird life at Camanche took up the slack. We encountered eagles, osprey, hawks, ducks, geese, gulls and no end to pied-billed and western grebes, many of which would dive and bring back minnows in their bills. There even was a large flock of wigeon on a grassy shoreline that grabbed our attention with their distinctive whistles.

There was so much wildlife.

Near the end of the day, I had one last chance to become a hero. My rod bent double and line sizzled off the conventional reel, extending more than 200 feet behind the boat. Would this be the trophy rainbow we sought?

The fish surfaced with a thunderous crash, but a strange pulse in the line, like a tail beating against the monofilament, caused concern. The fish was foul hooked.

Sure enough, the struggle lessened and in the distance we could see a large fish, belly up, being towed toward the boat. It didn't fight, and its pectoral fins pointed skyward as it slid into our waiting net.

"Pete, that is ugliest, slimiest fish I've ever seen," said Perkins, who stared incredulously at my 5-pound Sacramento squawfish. "Couldn't you have at least snagged a catfish?"